


The Kiss

by el3anorrigby



Series: Illya and Napoleon Drabbles [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, illya can't ignore Napoleon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon asks Illya to teach him the KGB technique - The Kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kiss

“So, Peril, about the ‘kiss’ the KGB taught you.”

Illya hears Napoleon walk into the living room but chooses not to entertain him. He's been pestering Illya for months about that peculiar KGB technique that's got him awed ever since he'd first seen Illya doing it back at the Vinciguerra's docks. But Illya keeps giving him lame excuses whenever he asks him to teach him the technique and this irks the American to no end. He never thought Russians could be this stingy when it comes to knowledge sharing.

“The kiss, Illya.”

Illya's eyes are still fixed on his chess pieces on the table. Without even looking, he knows Napoleon has found his place on the sofa across him, feels his eyes boring on him. Feeling a little unnerved, he glances up for a second, rolls his eyes when he sees that smirk on Napoleon’s face.

“What about it?” he asks despite himself.

“You’re still not going to teach me how to do it?”

Illya scoffs. “I told you, is difficult. Takes years to master. Teaching you would be nearly impossible.”

“You’re underestimating me,” Napoleon argues. When Illya continues to ignore him, he takes one of Illya’s pawns off the chessboard much to his annoyance. He then grins at the scowling Russian who looks like he might just strangle Napoleon.

“Will you teach me or won’t you?”

“I don't have time for this. Put it back, Cowboy,” Illya warns. He’s clearly not impressed with Napoleon’s antics.

“Then teach me the kiss,” Napoleon replies like a challenge. He dangles the pawn in front of Illya, continues to be a pain in the ass. “Or you might not get this back.”

Illya's had enough. With two long strides, he is at once on Napoleon before he realises what’s happening, before he could even scramble off the sofa. Illya quickly brackets his arms, pins them down against the armrests and leans down so close, their noses almost touched. A low growl escapes Illya’s throat with a snarl of his teeth against Napoleon's neck, like a lion going for the jugular of it’s prey. 

“Illya,” Napoleon gasps, “Get off.” He leans his head back, gulps a little when Illya doesn't relent. Dealing with an angry Illya is never a good idea, curses inwardly for getting himself into that tight little spot. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I’ll give you your pawn back,” he tries again in mock surrender but Illya only cocks his head, leans in further making Napoleon hold his breath. 

“So you back down? I thought you want the kiss? Or you give up before we can begin?”

Either Illya is a damn tease, puposely leaving out words to tantalise him or he really means what he’d just asked Napoleon. The American wants to say, yes I want it still, meaning, yes please teach me that goddamn KGB technique but what comes out from his mouth after that is just a pathetic little squeak. 

“Illya, you're heavy. You can get off me, anytime now,” Napoleon whines, feeling stupid at how easy Illya’s got him all hot and bothered. 

Illya, on the other hand, is not really sure he wants to let Napoleon go from his grasp. From that close of a range, Napoleon’s lips look too delectable, too inviting to be simply ignored. With his weight settling on Napoleon, arms on either side of his face and legs straddling him, he tentatively presses his lips on Napoleon and a soft strangled moan from the American at that barely there contact makes Illya lose it. With a growl, he kisses him fast and hard, devours his mouth until Napoleon is left completely wrecked and disheveled on the sofa.

“Oh God...” he whimpers when Illya breaks the kiss. 

“Is that the kiss you want me to teach?” Illya murmurs, fingers tangled in Napoleon’s hair, holding his face close, foreheads leaning against each other. His breathing is ragged, and so is Napoleon’s, and what Illya wants to do next is just to kiss him again and again and again, wants to lose himself in him. Telling himself to hold on to what’s left of his tattered self control, he gives Napoleon a quick peck at the corner of his parted lips instead. 

“Cowboy? Answer me. Is kiss good?” 

“Mmm, definitely much better than the one I had in mind,” Napoleon says with a sated grin. “You can have your pawn back now,” he continues but Illya only growls, “Keep it.” 

When that pair of lips come crushing down on his once again, Napoleon really wants to thank the KGB for inventing 'the kiss’ and giving him Illya. He gets to experience their most impressive technique with their best damn agent. Not everyone gets to be this lucky. 

And Illya figures, as his lips tangle with Napoleon's, the kiss is meant only for Napoleon now. It's his to keep and he'll be damned to let Cowboy share it with anyone else, ever again. 


End file.
